


Anything You Can Do I Can Do Better

by thundercrackfic



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale is "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing" (Good Omens), Aziraphale is a Little Shit (Good Omens), But Nobody Appreciates His Art, Crowley can do weird things with his tongue, Crowley is Good at Being a Demon (Good Omens), Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Do as the Romans Do, Except Aziraphale, Intersex, Intersex Aziraphale, Oral Sex, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexless Crowley, Sleepy Cuddles, Voyeurism, when in rome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:28:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23273992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thundercrackfic/pseuds/thundercrackfic
Summary: At least they're enthusiastic, Crowley thought, as he watched the two men and one woman grunt and writhe on the platform before him.----Crowley and Aziraphale take in a voyeuristic show at a Roman dinner party. Crowley is bored by the spectacle. Aziraphale is not.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 56
Kudos: 241
Collections: AJ’s personal faves, Ixnael’s Recommendations, Just Enough Of A Bastard to be Worth Knowing Biblically





	1. Apertura

**Author's Note:**

> This doesn't fit in with the rest of my Good Omens Fics.
> 
> (Or does it...? I'm not actually sure.)

_At least they're enthusiastic_ , Crowley thought, as he watched the two men and one woman grunt and writhe on the platform before him.

The woman was on hands and knees, moaning as she sucked the cock of the man in front of her. The other man knelt behind her, plumbing her depths. Slaves passed between Crowley's couch and the platform, pouring watered wine and offering plates of delicacies. He accepted the former and declined the latter.

He glanced sideways at Aziraphale, who lounged on the adjacent couch so naturally that he might have been created for the express purpose of indulging at decadent Roman dinner parties. His sparkling-white toga was perfectly draped, his wine cup balanced on an artfully poised, soft hand. Crowley gazed at Aziraphale as the angel, for his part, attentively watched the olive-oil-slicked nude humans do their...thing. He popped olives in his mouth, and Crowley saw the olives anoint Aziraphale's lips with their oil. The shiny slick of oil on angelic lips seemed far more worth his attention than the very same oil coating the well-muscled human bodies that were attracting Aziraphale's own attention. Crowley felt something twist unpleasantly in the region of his stomach. Probably a rancid nut.

“Not the best performance," Crowley offered.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. "They're very fit, which is beautiful enough to behold on its own. And they're very creative, I think." He sipped his wine and then exclaimed as the olive-skinned man on the receiving end of the woman's full lips leaned forward and pressed his own lips to the dark-skinned man's. "I say, how symmetrical."

Crowley scoffed.

Aziraphale selected a dolma off of a passing tray and chewed it contemplatively. Crowley might have been bored by the human antics in front of him but he found the microexpressions that flitted across the angel's face enthralling. He hated himself for it, but didn't exert any effort to look away. He might be a demon, but he knew art, and Aziraphale's dramatic performance over a delicious treat -- whether it was his eyes or his mouth that was being treated -- was much higher art than the spectacle of a human threesome.

Aziraphale licked his lips, chasing the last of the herbed oil that had soaked the dolmas, and Crowly found himself unconsciously mirroring the movement.

"Oh!" Aziraphale exclaimed, putting one soft hand to his lips. Crowley reluctantly looked away from Aziraphale toward the stage. The olive-skinned man had withdrawn from the woman's mouth and was sliding to her side, letting his nearly purple cock glide down her shoulders, along the dip of her back, pausing at her buttocks. He hissed as his cock bounced there, where the dark-skinned man continued to thrust rhythmically. The woman had fallen to her elbows, muffling her moans in a sheepskin. The two men kissed again. over her back. A lot of tongue was involved. The huge swollen cock looked more uncomfortable than exciting.

Crowley looked back at Aziraphale, who was chewing rather fast. Crowley was torn between watching the angel's reactions and trying to figure out what, in particular, he was reacting to. Without meaning to, he watched Aziraphale through both bites, through his licking his lips and licking his fingers. 

When Crowey realized he'd been staring, he looked away. While he'd been distracted, the humans had rearranged themselves; it was now the olive-skinned man in the middle, being penetrated by the man and, in turn, penetrating the woman. The two end performers were shoving in synchrony, simultaneously banging the man in between them. Their grunting had gotten a bit more shouty. Crowley found it all a little ridiculous, but Aziraphale seemed to be enjoying all of it.

In fact: "It wold be quite a thing to be in the middle of _that_ ," mumbled Aziraphale, _sotto voce_.

Crowley frowned. There was something he really did not like about that mental picture. “I can't think why you'd think so. There's no art here," he argued. "'It's all brute force, no style. All that pounding. They might as well be churning butter."

" _Really_ , Crowley."

"I'm serious, they're gonna hurt tomorrow, and no mistake. Won't be worth it. There'll be regrets."

The grunts from the platform had elevated into shouts, but the angel and demon carried on their conversation in their own little world as slaves passed them by.

Aziraphale looked at him. "I thought your lot enjoy regret."

Crowley snorted. "Some of 'my lot' might, but they don't know what they're doing. Fulfilling lust doesn't need to hurt. It's better if it doesn't. Makes them want more of it later. Sinning is supposed to be _fun_. Even afterward. Until it's too late. Draw them in with sugar." His smile showed fangs.

"Like you would know," Aziraphale said.

His tone was playful, but Crowley felt affronted. "I would! I could do much better than those tossers," he said, waving his hand dismissively at the center of the room. The woman was climaxing with a long wail.

"All right," Aziraphale said.

Crowley wasn't sure what he'd heard. “What?”

Aziraphale smiled with satisfaction as he watched the man in the middle of the threesome reach his own gasping climax. “I accept your offer. I'd be delighted to receive a demonstration of your talents."

Crowley’s head felt thick. It was fortunate that he had to wait to speak until the second man had finally shouted through his own orgasm. Only once there was no sound left from the platform but gasping, and the other audience members were applauding with appreciation for the performance, did Crowley gather his wits. Well, some of them. “Come again?” he asked.

Aziraphale finally looked away from the stage and met Crowley's glasses with his twinkling blue eyes. He smirked mischievously. “My dear boy, if you want me to come again, you’ll have to make me come a first time.”

Crowley choked on his wine.

Aziraphale giggled, the bastard.


	2. Principale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The intersex genitalia were a strategic mistake.”
> 
> “Oh, heavens no. I think it was a brilliant stratagem if I do say so myself.”
> 
> \------
> 
> Crowley delivers on his boast to show Aziraphale that a gentle touch is far more titillating than a merciless pounding. Aziraphale's plan to confuse the demon backfires, with sexy results.

The full Moon shone brightly on the fluffy hair and white toga of a patrician who strolled down the middle of the midnight street. A dark figure slunk from shadow to shadow, following the other man crookedly. It seemed sinister, but wasn’t. You know who both figures are.

Crowley was not drunk, and yet he felt all off-kilter. Temptation was afoot, with lust as its center, and him in a starring role. But he wasn't in control of the situation, not at all. How? The night seemed unreal except for the beacon of angel. His every tiny movement, each upright step, each sway of white linen exerted a pull on Crowley. His vivid imagination ran wild with the possibilities of what the angel might desire. From him, a demon. What noises he might make. How soft he would be.

A demon being tempted? By an angel?? The world was upside down.

Aziraphale turned out of the street, proceeding into a narrow alley. Crowley caught up to the street corner and peered in. In the utter darkness of the shadows between buildings, the angel’s bright hair and toga were still easy to spot as he knocked softly at a low-linteled wooden door.

For his part, Crowley lurked in the shadows. He was good at lurking. He _made_ shadows. Lurking was comfortable, for a demon.

The angel turned his head, stared right at him, and smiled with his lips pressed together and his eyes twinkling, as though he were suppressing a laugh.

Being smiled at was not compatible with lurking. _I’m not here, you don’t see_ me, Crowley thought, but it had exactly zero effect on Aziraphale’s warm expression. Crowley’s lip curled and he felt an unpleasant swooping sensation in the region of his belly.

The wooden door opened. "Thank you," Aziraphale spoke quietly to someone inside. He entered, disappearing from view. Crowley crept closer. Aziraphale’s head poked around the door, backlit by torchlight into a dark silhouette with a brilliant halo. "Do come in, Crowley."

It was bad to be detected while lurking. Was it safe? Stupid for a demon to worry about safety. Where was his pride, for Satan's sake? He slunk inside.

It was a small courtyard. Tidy, but not ornate. Just a few benches around clean-swept cobblestones. A child holding a torch provided the only light. No, not a child; a hunchback, its age and gender indeterminate.

There was no other human around, so Crowley risked extending his aura a bit to read more about the creature. Female-bodied, female-gendered, of middle childbearing age, barely sinful, a bit of avarice offering his only hook for tempting her. Not worth it.

That much he was able to see in retrospect. The moment he had extended his aura, his metaphysical eyes had been blinded. Hardly more than an arm’s length away, Aziraphale's angelic nature shone brilliant as the Sun. Crowley physically staggered, pulling himself back in.

As the afterimage of brilliant angel faded, it acquired color. Angelic goodness colored with shades of sin. Crowley chased its memory, discerning its notes. Gluttony, pride, and avarice, and lust dominating them all. (Not so much wrath or envy, and while sloth was there, it was quiescent. Sleeping, even. Appropriate.)

It had all happened in a flash. Crowley hoped Aziraphale hadn’t noticed the extension of his soul, and his being overwhelmed.

Crowley tried to compose himself as the angel spoke softly to his servant. She limped away. Aziraphale turned his head and gazed at Crowley serenely. Crowley couldn't keep from staring. He'd known Aziraphale for more than four thousand years, but he'd never seen the angel so bold. So unashamed.

The servant returned with two lamps, handed Aziraphale one of them, and shuffled off. "Come," Aziraphale said, his voice pitched low for the courtyard's quiet. "Seemah will bring us wine. Let's retire to my chamber."

And that's how they wound up in the angel's bedchamber, Aziraphale sitting on his narrow bed, Crowley draped across an armchair, the servant pouring them wine and bringing them bowls of scented water and linen cloths to wash their hands and faces. She fetched a tray of bread and olive oil and dates.

The house might have been humble, but the table was not; the flour for the bread had been finely ground, the olive oil was a fruity first press, and the dates were sweet and tender. "Leave the wine, my dear, and you can retire," Aziraphale said to the servant. She nodded and left quietly.

Aziraphale watched after her, his expression wistful. "She's a good girl," he said. "She's been with me for almost twenty years, since she was small. Her father came home from the war and forced her mother to give her up because of her—condition."

He picked up a date and took a careful bite, avoiding the pit. Crowley mirrored him. Aziraphale sighed. "I should find her another situation, she's beginning to notice the whole not-aging thing. But she doesn't like children and most people think she’s unlucky. It's dreadfully unfair. So I've held on to her; she deserves to be safe."

Crowley wondered if Aziraphale had reconsidered what he'd said at the dinner party. Reverted back to angel form from--whatever that had been. Just as well. The angel's table and conversation were good, anyway; no loss of a night. He relaxed, sipping his wine, and rummaged around his cranium for a new conversational topic.

Aziraphale tossed back his cup and set it on table. He dabbed his lips primly with his linen cloth. "Well, then. About your offer."

Welp. Crowley filed his conversational topics away.

Aziraphale fiddled with his ring. Then he took a deep breath and squared his shoulders and fixed Crowley with a direct look. "Are you able to deliver on your boast?"

Crowley gulped, but the angel's diffidence made him feel as though the ground was solidifying beneath his feet again. "Of courssse," he said. Damn his lisp; it would come out when he was feeling demonish.

Aziraphale stood. He looked very, very soft in the lamplight. His eyes were cast down. Like he felt ashamed — or, no, more like a coquettish girl, _feigning_ shame. It was impossible to tell which. Aziraphale flicked his eyes upward and Crowley felt a burst of attraction.

Go—Sa— _Somebody_ , how could the Aziraphale be so good at temptation? This supposedly angelic creature could teach most of the demons of Hell a thing or two.

"Regardless of how I present?” The angel queried from under fluttering eyelashes. The unrepentant flirt.

Crowley was fascinated. But not mesmerized. The thing was, Crowley knew temptation. And of the two of them, he knew who had the longer experience at the game. Crowley felt back in his element. Aziraphale was better at words, but Crowley ruled at actions.

Crowley flowed to his feet and let his countenance shift as he stepped around the low table. Over the space of a few breaths, in the guttering lamplight, he appeared feminine, then masculine, then reverted to an androgynous face, assumed male by most only because it was the societal default. But it could be either. Or neither. "Presentation doesn't matter," he murmured, his lips now only inches from Aziraphale’s. "Only sssssskill does."

By the end of that sentence he'd let his eyes go full snake, and that had dissolved the angel into a collection of fluttery, nervous movements. It piqued his predatory instincts, that nervousness. That would have been enough on its own, but Aziraphale was _radiating_ lust. Crowley couldn’t prevent his forked tongue from sampling the air. There was a new odor in the room, earthy and wet.

"All right, then," Aziraphale said, turning away, doing a creditable job of feigning control. Crowley saw his hand touch the pin at his shoulder. The material of the fine woolen toga fell in a puddle at the angel’s feet, revealing him naked. Soft shoulders, soft back, round, at the waist and buttocks, just handfuls of angel everywhere.

What a picture. Crowley wanted to stop time to appreciate it. He didn’t.

Crowley saw Aziraphale’s shoulders rise and fall, and he felt a little stir of power in the air. He could hear wings snap in an adjacent plane, could sense the angel exerting magic to keep them from falling down into corporeal reality. Then Aziraphale was kneeling on the bed platform, turning around to face him, and reclining against a pile of cushions. He visibly relaxed and sank into the cushions, his body softening as Crowley watched.

"I'm waiting," Aziraphale purred.

It was almost cute that Aziraphale thought – or pretended to think--that he was the one in control here. Sort of cute. As cute as a mouse about to be swallowed whole by a snake.

Crowley banished his own toga with a small miracle. It took effort to keep his own wings confined; he wanted to bring them forth to mantle the angel, hide him from the rest of the world’s view, claim him for himself, his own.

As he focused on controlling his wings, he knelt on the bed, climbing over one of Aziraphale's outstretched legs. His eyes traveled up the thick thigh and...hmm. Well.

Crowley glanced at Aziraphale's eyes, but the angel wasn’t looking at his face; he was distracted by what lay—or, more to the point, didn’t lie—between Crowley's legs. "Are you--not--" the angel stammered.

Crowley smiled, unapologetic about the featurelessly smooth skin at his groin and pleased to have surprised him as much as he’d been surprised himself. "Don't need any unusual equipment to do what I said I could do to you, angel," he said.

Aziraphale pursed his lips, then looked down at his own crotch. He lifted his chin. "Well, that's all right, I suppose, I've manifested enough equipment for both of us. Let's see what you can do with this, serpent." His eyes flashing with challenge.

Crowley looked at Aziraphale with undisguised pleasure. The angel clearly had no idea what he was getting into. He had manifested something in between the typical female and male genitalia. Plush, full outer lips parted slightly to allow a peek at a slick, pink, folded interior. At its apex, poking out of a hood, rose something in between a tiny cock and a huge clitoris, already standing proud and red. It even twitched as Crowley watched, and the demon reconfigured his mouth a little to accommodate it better.

Aziraphale clearly thought he was presenting Crowley with a challenge, but he’d actually made something perfectly designed to be pleasured by a skilled mouth. And Crowley could do really weird things with his tongue.

Crowley’s tongue flicked out, sampling the air again. He could taste the bitter salty odor of Aziraphale’s sex in it, and smiled wider. His tongue lolled and he trapped Aziraphale’s eyes with his own.

Aziraphale’s mouth dropped open and he drew an involuntary breath. He clutched at the coverlet on his sleeping platform, a fearful response; but he also drew his legs up and let his thighs fall open. A little scared, but hungrier than he was scared. He shut his eyes and reached between his legs to pull fleshy lips aside, revealing a hole between them. Presenting himself.

Crowley groaned at the spectacle before him. He walked his knees further up the bed, spreading Aziraphale’s thighs even wider. He leaned down and nuzzled the angel’s cheek, his forked tongue lapping at his jaw, his earlobe, his neck. Aziraphale gasped, letting go an uncontrolled flare of lust that scented the air, striking Crowley’s demonic senses like blood in the water for a shark.

Crowley let his hands roam Aziraphale’s skin. Fueled by the angel’s lust, his hands operated nearly independently of his brain. They touched lightly, they dragged, they massaged. As his hands roamed Crowley subconsciously noted Aziraphale’s responses, repeating the movements that made the angel tense or writhe or gasp. Aziraphale was so responsive, made so many thrilling noises, and Crowley exerted himself to hear them more.

Crowley moved his mouth (and, more importantly, his tongue) south. Hands wandered to nipples, caressing softly at first, then pinching while Aziraphale moaned. He replaced one hand with his mouth, licking; then he switched hand and mouth. Aziraphale cried out and arched his hips upward, but Crowley dodged artfully, denying the satisfaction of friction. Each time Aziraphale arched up, Crowley only pressed his knees farther up the bed, spreading the angel’s thighs wider, limiting his motion further, and not giving him what he wanted. Each time, the angel’s lust increased. The demon fed on it, wallowed in it.

Crowley moved downward very slowly, licking and nibbling at the soft stomach. Aziraphale tried to grab his hair, his shoulder, but Crowley wouldn’t let him, pushing his hands away. Finally Aziraphale gave up trying to control Crowley with a hoarse cry of frustration. He covered his eyes with one forearm and dug the other hand’s fingers into his own hair, pulling. His hips made little circles on the bed, seeking friction they couldn’t find. “Please, please,” he begged.

“Please what?” Crowley asked, knowing full well what Aziraphale wanted. The angel’s desperation was as sweet as honey, and it satisfied him to wait.

“Touch me, please, I need it, I want it, please...”

Crowley toyed with the idea of requiring the angel to be more specific; it would serve him right for thinking he could confuse a demon with nonstandard genitalia. But he didn’t want to risk Aziraphale changing the equipment out of pique, because it was so, so perfect for what Crowley could do. So he relented.

He surged upward and gave Aziraphale a soft kiss. The angel wrapped his arms around him and chased his lips hungrily but Crowley didn’t let it deepen. He kept it soft and tender. After a minute, Aziraphale let it be tender, too. “Oh, Crowley,” he whispered. “Please.”

The tenderness almost undid him. Crowley pressed their mouths together, lapping inside, and Aziraphale writhed. Crowley dodged his hips again. Aziraphale sobbed in frustration. “I’m on fire, Crowley, please, have mercy.”

What kind of thing was that to ask a demon? Crowley brought his hands to the angel’s hipbones, pressing them down into the sleeping platform, and began to kiss his way down Aziraphale’s chest. The angel’s breath came in short gasps and he covered his face with his hands.

Crowley contemplated the scene between Aziraphale’s thighs. Everything was plush and swollen and begging for him. The clit—or cock—perhaps nub?—pulsed every few seconds, twitching up and down, followed by twitches of Aziraphale’s legs. Where to start? There were so many ways to torture him with tantalizing pleasure.

It seemed appropriate to begin with kisses. Crowley leaned down, slowly, deliberately, and gave a soft, chaste kiss to the slightly parted lips between the angel’s thighs. Aziraphale cried out, trying again to arch upward, but Crowley’s hands held those hips down. He saw the lips pulse as Aziraphale panted. He felt the strong thighs tensing and twitching. He couldn’t resist. He kissed the swollen lips lightly, again and again, until Aziraphale was emitting soft little cries with each breath.

Crowley kept kissing tenderly, lulling the angel into the expectation of rhythmic kisses, and then he leaned down for one more kiss but instead licked firmly from bottom to top, stopping just short of the throbbing nub. Aziraphale shrieked, wetness dripping out from between his lips.

It was a perfect time to deploy more frustrating tactics. Crowley resumed his light kisses, but now he let his nose nudge that quivering nub as he kissed up and down. Aziraphale mewed. The nub had no slit, Crowley saw, so it was more like a clit than a cock. Thick, though, almost like a small cock, enough to close his lips on and still be able to lick it. That sounded like a good idea.

Crowley licked deep, pressing his tongue into Aziraphale’s folds and running it upward until he could lap a few circles around the nub. Aziraphale cried out, shuddering in ecstasy.

Crowley lifted his head. “How am I doing?” he asked, his voice an octave lower than usual.

It took a few attempts, but Aziraphale managed to dredge up a little wit. “Smashing,” he breathed, gasping. “But you can’t be done yet.”

“Oh no. There’s much more I have to do.”

“Oh God,” Aziraphale whimpered. Crowley chuckled.

Slowly, deliberately, Crowley slid his hands down from Aziraphale’s hips, following the contour of his thighs, into his groin. His thumbs reached Aziraphale’s labia, pressed in, and parted them, opening up his folds like a book. Aziraphale moaned as he felt them stretch. Crowley reached out with his tongue, lapping deeply from bottom to top and back, laving every fold and crest with his tongue, and Aziraphale arched up, crying out.

There was only so long Crowley could tease. It was time to push harder. He repeated the motion, but this time as his tongue licked upward it continued, circling around Aziraphale’s nub, as Crowley pressed his thumbs deep inside. Aziraphale shouted raggedly and Crowley felt an answering pulse in his groin, even though he’d manifested no genitalia.

Crowley had his mouth on Aziraphale now. The nub was, indeed, the perfect size to be licked and sucked. He did both, lips clamped on it, tongue flickering around its tip, as he used fingers to probe inside, first two, then three. He was so hot and wet inside. Aziraphale writhed beneath him, hands scrabbling at the mattress, the pillows, Crowley’s hair, anything they could reach. Nothing changed Crowley’s methodical sucking.

The angel’s lust pulsed in waves in rhythm with the throbbing of his clit-cock, and he cried his sharply pained pleasure, and Crowley licked and lipped and sucked, pressing fingers in harder and harder, feeling the angel’s walls pulse around him.

Suddenly there were strong hands gripping his head, pressing him down, and Crowley couldn’t breathe, but he didn’t need to, so he sucked and licked for all he was worth, and the angel was howling with pleasure, and throbbing around his fingers, and lust knifed through him, and Crowley briefly lost control of his own aura. He was blinded as the angel climaxed for an eternity of pleasure.

He came back to himself with his lips still locked around the clit-cock. Aziraphale was tense, panting. His whole body convulsed, ending with a throb at his center, inside Crowley’s lips, and Crowley licked in response. Aziraphale’s hands pulled Crowley’s head up. “Too sensitive,” he said, and then he throbbed again, and he said: “dear God.”

Crowley felt satiated. Slowly, deliberately, he moved up and to one side, lying down half draped across Aziraphale. He left one hand gently resting on Aziraphale’s groin. Once every five or ten seconds he twitched a finger, and his tiny motion was amplified into a full-body pulse of pleasure from the angel, both a physical one and a metaphysical one, the muscular twitch accompanied by a wave of lust and gluttony. It was delicious.

At length, Aziraphale covered Crowley’s hand with one of his own. “That will do,” he murmured. Crowley obliged, moving his hand and curling his arm around Aziraphale’s waist instead.

“Well. You were right. I’d call that a successful demonstration.” He twitched again with another pulse of pleasure. “Ah!”

“That wasn’t me,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale laughed. “I know. You’ve got me quite wound up.”

“The intersex genitalia were a strategic mistake.”

“Oh, heavens no. I think it was a brilliant stratagem if I do say so myself.”

“Bastard,” Crowley said, chuckling. “Are you sure you’re actually an angel?”

“Last time I checked.” He was still panting. A few more aftershocks ripped through him. “What about you? Can I do anything for you, my dear?”

“Nah,” Crowley said. He squeezed Aziraphale around the middle, pressing his nose into the angel’s shoulder. “Don’t need it. Don’t want it.”

Aziraphale sighed. “I wish—“

Crowley stiffened. He suddenly felt like leaving, but he fought the impulse down. He knew that if he left he’d regret it. “Don’t. Just—this is enough, right here.”

“All right.” The angel’s hand came around his back, then, rubbing slow circles with his fingertips. “May I do this?”

“Sure.”

Crowley sank into the comfort of Aziraphale’s soft chest, lulled nearly to sleep by the hand rubbing his back.

He jerked awake, frightened.

“Crowley,” said a voice he trusted implicitly. He relaxed. A bad daydream. He’d felt like he was falling, farther and farther from his angel.

”’m all right.”

“May I—try something? Not, you know, intimate. I think you might like it.”

Crowley laughed inwardly at the idea that anything they could do together right now — as they clutched nakedly at each other — would not be described as “intimate.” “Ssss. Sure, angel, try.”

“Here. Roll over.” Aziraphale made as though to sit up, rolling Crowley from his chest to his back on the bed.

“Don’t leave—“

“I wouldn’t, not tonight, I promise. We're in my bedroom, don’t forget!” He drew a deep breath, in, and out. “Just relax here. Scoot a bit to your right, if you would.”

Crowley felt too tired to “scoot” but he did his best to oblige, twisting snakily until he was lying on his back in the middle of the bed. Aziraphale leaned over him.

“Now, let’s see,” Aziraphale said. He swung one leg over the demon’s hips and then lowered himself until his full body weight rested on Crowley’s, chest to shins. He snuggled his curly head into the depression between Crowley’s collarbone and cheek, and let his body relax. “How does this feel?”

Crowley was in a comfortable bed, safe, with an entire angel pressing him down. How did it feel? It was not describable. If he said anything it might vanish. Safe. Sheltered. Cozy. All that and more. These were not things demons could have. Best not to talk about them. Or to ask for them. Crowley certainly hadn’t asked. But he could experience them, if offered. He melted under the angel’s weight. Aziraphale seemed to gather all his gravity and all his fluffy coziness and he relaxed further onto Crowley.

“Mmmmph,” Crowley said. He’d intended to say something else. He wasn’t sure what.

“Yes,” Aziraphale said, as though Crowley’s utterance had been lucid. “That’s right. Just relax. I’ve got you.“

That didn’t seem quite right, but, drifting as he was, Crowley couldn’t figure out why. He tried to shift a little, but he was thoroughly pinned, cheek to feet. He inhaled, then exhaled, and his breath was forced out deeply by an angel’s weight on his torso.

“Mmmmm.” A hum, and a gentle press of lips to his neck, were the last things he remembered before sleep.

* * *

As sleep overtook the demon, Aziraphale felt the pressure on his soul let up. He sighed, both relieved and bereft. It couldn’t be denied anymore. The demon’s feeling for him wasn’t just professional interest. It was much more than curiosity. It was regard. It was love. Aziraphale had let it swallow him up this evening. He didn’t regret it in the slightest. Crowley wanted so much, and was so happy when Aziraphale responded to him. He couldn’t not respond; it was his nature to create happiness and amplify love wherever he found it. But it made things so much more complicated.

Aziraphale loved Crowley, of course. But that hardly signified; he was an angel, he loved everything and everyone. Sure, the attachment between him and Crowley felt a little different. But it was because they’d known each other so very long. Thousands of years! It was natural for it to be deeper than any relationship Aziraphale had had with a human. And as for angels — well, Aziraphale had spent far more time in Crowley’s company than he had with any angel. And wasn’t that a thing?

He wiggled a little against the demon’s angular body. So good, so familiar, so comfortable. It seemed like it ought to be wrong. Gabriel wouldn’t approve. Uriel would be disgusted. Michael’s reaction didn’t bear thinking about. But they didn’t know what Aziraphale did, didn’t have his experience on Earth.

They didn’t need to know, Aziraphale thought. They wouldn’t understand. He had a sudden feeling of possessiveness and curled a hand into Crowley’s hair, pressing the demon’s head against Aziraphale’s. He buried his nose into the crook between Crowley’s neck and shoulder, smelling his scent of sandalwood and rosemary and a hint of brimstone. His demon, and nobody else’s. No one else appreciated him.

* * *

Even asleep, Crowley sensed the pulse of angelic avarice, and smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't seen much fic where the ineffables choose something other than the standard two options for genitals, but I don't see why they should be limited, especially considering how human biology allows for in-between states. If they're genderless or genderfluid it seems totally consistent for them to at least dabble in intersexuality, and to enjoy it.

**Author's Note:**

> How is Crowley going to demonstrate his talents, hmmm?
> 
> I've long thought that Aziraphale is such a hedonist that he must have at least investigated sex, if not participated in it enthusiastically. This chapter contains the former; chapter 2 (once I write it) will contain the latter.
> 
> It's my first explicit fic, please be kind. Comments and kudos are my sustenance, please feed me. Constructive criticism is A-OK.


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